Money, Honey
by Horribibble
Summary: The last way Balthier expected to end a night of partying was tied to a chair by the world's weirdest band of kidnappers. And the stripper. He was pretty sure the boy was a stripper. AU. Balthier x Vaan.
1. Sticky Honey

Author's Note: **This is important if you read any of my stories! **The netbook with several unposted chapters and the backup drive with _everything I've ever written_ and a crapload of other stuff I care about was stolen from our car. Please, bear with me. I'm trying to convince myself I'm okay and work up the guts to get back to work at the same time. Here's my first attempt: I've finally gotten some work done on a Balthier/Vaan story. I hope you enjoy it and, again, patience please.

* * *

_**Money Honey**_

_-_

_**P**art **O**ne:_

_**S**ticky **H**oney_

_-_

* * *

Ffamran Mied Bunansa, or, as he preferred to be called, "_Balthier_" was no stranger to alcohol. Thus, waking with a screaming migraine and enhanced light sensitivity did not immediately set off the old alarm bells in his head.

As a matter of fact, there was very little that _could _set them off at this point. Or so he'd thought, before he realized that the half-sticky, half-itching feeling at his scalp wasn't sweat, or alcohol, or any other oh-so-pleasant 'party substance'.

It was blood.

Son of a _bitch,_ someone had bashed him hard enough to bleed.

Balthier allowed himself a primitive growl, but cut off when his head gave a rather disapproving throb.

He rather hoped they hadn't killed what precious few brain cells he'd managed to salvage from his damned father's indoctrinations.

An uncomfortable shift of his sore shoulders proved rather informative as his eyes struggled to adjust to the torturous lights.

He was tied, hands behind his back, to a chair.

Were he not bleeding from the head and suffering a rather impressive migraine, he might have made a remark about the kinkiness of the situation.

That, and if he weren't 70% sure that this was a hostage situation.

Just what he needed, now.

To be ransomed back to daddy dearest.

"I don't imagine that attending sirs or madams would have a few _pills_ for the good little hostage?" He drawled with little humor.

"Not right now. Sorry. I can hit you on the other side of your head to even it out, but that's about it. I don't have any meds on me."

"Lovely." Balthier spat, squinting to see the outline of a honey-gold something, "May I have a name to put to the little rocket scientist, or should I just call you 'Simple Simon'?"

"'Simple Simon'? Isn't that a kid's rhyme?"

"Bra-_vo_, my young friend."

"Hey! Are you calling me stupid?! I'm _not _stupid, I just don't have medicine."

Balthier resisted the urge to whimper at the increase in volume.

"Stop_ screaming, _you little freak." He hissed.

There was silence for a few moments, then Balthier heard soft footfalls drawing closer. He drew one foot back, carefully preparing, but the movements stopped.

"Look, I've got a rag and some cold water to mop up the big ugly on your forehead, but if you kick me, that's gonna be _kinda _hard. Plus, I'll probably scream, and we _both _know how tolerant you are of _that_."

Balthier closed his eyes, setting his foot back on the floor, "Fine."

He was really getting irritated at the feeling of his own drying blood, and it wouldn't hurt to get himself cleaned up, even if it _was _by the world's most dimwitted kidnapper.

"So, uh...Ffamran—"

"_Balthier._"

"Balthier, um—"

Leave it to Simple Simon to muck up the simplest of details. Everyone who was _anyone _knew of his preference. It had been this way for quite a while, now.

Balthier made a low, lengthy 'hmm'ing noise, waiting for the boy to _do _something, when the ice-cold rag made contact with skin.

Saints _alive, _that shit hurt.

"Agh! Are you out of your fucking _mind?!_"

The cloth drew away, wrenching a bit of half-dried blood with it.

"Mother of—."

"Shit, man. Could you stop cussing me out for a sec and make up your _mind_?"

"Oh, please, do excuse my hostility. I know you've done nothing to earn my ire. You're just an innocent little _kidnapping __**fuck**__! _Should I be _thanking _you first for the blow to the head, or for _tying me up?_"

"Actually, most of it wasn't me, so I'm not really the one you should be yelling at. Besides, doesn't that make your head hurt?"

"...I _hate _you."

"Hey, hey, that's uncalled for. Hate _kills _people. ...Open your eyes for a sec?"

"For _what?_"

"So I can check and see if they...dilate...or...whatever. Penelo mentioned something about it."

"Hell. No. Should I leave the welfare of my sight to _you_, I've no doubt I'll go blind."

"Oh, just open your eyes so I can make sure they _still work_, your prissy jackass."

"_I'm_ a jackass? I beg to differ, my young friend. I think that perhaps a few lessons in human civilities would serve you almost as well as a _proper shower_."

And then, all of a sudden, the kid was _straddling his lap_ and there was a _tongue in his ear._

"What the—?!"

His eyes flew open, and searing pain lanced his brain. Before he could snap them shut again, he caught sight of pretty teeth and brilliant blue eyes contrasting that honey-gold skin.

"See, now? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Balthier could do nothing but let out a startled 'ngee?' sound as the boy shifted his weight, brushing their lower parts together suggestively, "You should be nice to me. I only wanna _help_ you."

"Help him into an early grave, maybe. Basch asked you to watch the guy, not _rape_ him, Vaan." A girl's giggle filtered in through the madness.

'Vaan', as he was now known, let out an irritated huffing noise, his breath misting over Balthier's skin, "Gee, Pen, just when he was starting to loosen up."

"I'll loosen _you_ up if you don't get _off_ of me."

Vaan chuckled a little, and then the weight disappeared. The soft sound of the boy's footsteps led off into the distance, and then, the sound of a door opening and closing. Through the door, he could hear the sound of muffled singing, fading off gradually.

"_Money, money, money, money. Sticky, sticky, sticky honey._"

Wasn't _that_ just beautiful?

Balthier was left feeling distinctly more disturbed than he had been a few precious minutes ago.

"Well, Mr. Bunansa, it looks like it's just you and me for now. The others are all busy." The girl's voice was sunny and cheerful—even more of what Balthier _did not need_ right now.

"Bal_thier,_" He corrected harshly, "My _father_ is Mr. Bunansa."

"Okay. Balthier it is, then. How are you feeling, Balthier?"

"Oh, just _peachy_. These restraints are doing _wonders_ for my skin, and I just _love_ what these blinding lights are doing for the _migraine _you gave me. ...Is something _wrong_ with you people?" He couldn't help but ask. "In fact, the kid that was just in here—Vaan—is there _anything_ he can do right?"

There was silence for a few moments. Balthier figured he'd upset the girl, but then, "_Wee~ell_...if you ask _nicely_, he might give you a _really_ nice lap dance."

That tore it.

He'd been kidnapped by a band of sideshow freaks.

* * *

_Musical credit for this chapter goes to _Juliette and the Licks _for their song_ "Sticky Honey". _It played a good part in inspiring this story._

_Expect many more captivating musical references. _

_Much love. :P _

_See y'all next chapter, and please take the time to review. :)_


	2. Crack Open Your Gorgeous Face

**Author's Not****e:** Finished at 2:45 A.M. Still have not finished my assignments. Eyes are burning. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this. I know it's been quite a long time since I posted this story, but I couldn't quite work out how to get it where I wanted it to go. I finally snapped myself into activity this evening. As a result, this chapter may become...a bit heavier than you may expect. Still, it will brighten up. Don't worry. :)

* * *

Money Honey

**Part Two:**

Crack Open Your Gorgeous Face

* * *

Penelo, as the idiot boy had called her, was actually quite pretty, in a quaint sense. She was the kind of girl Balthier would take home to meet his mother so she wouldn't see the sort of people he had _actually been fucking_. ...Provided his mother hadn't left, and his father weren't an outright sociopath.

He was finally able to _see_ her after she brought him back some pills and applied a wet compress to his head wound.

Finally! Medical attention!

He longed to bite out something scathingly witty, but the situation was beginning to dawn on him even more painfully than the migraine.

While both of the captors he'd encountered so far seemed to be fairly harmless, there had to be _some _mastermind behind this little venture.

While the boy—Vaan—had offered to hit him earlier, he doubted the kid had actually been the one to bludgeon him in the first place.

"So...your boss-"

"My boss?" Penelo looked confused, "What boss?"

Balthier let out a frustrated sigh, "Who _wanged _me, then?"

He was making an effort to be polite, he really was.

The girl, for all of her filthy kidnapping ways, was actually being quite helpful in soothing Balthier's raging brain blister.

"You mean Basch. He's really sorry about the migraine, you know? He tries not to do too much damage..."

"He has _practice?_"

"Well, you're not the first person we've..."

"Wrenched brutally from their happy lives?" He drawled.

"Oh, shut up. It isn't _that_ bad."

"Penelo—it _is_ Penelo, yes?—You're _kidnapping _people. What part of that 'isn't that bad'?"

"Well, you're not chained to a wall, we're tending your injuries instead of letting them get all pus-y and infected, and Basch hasn't gotten out the thumb screws yet."

Balthier tasted acid.

"Whoa! Easy, easy, I'm only teasing."

"I've had quite enough of _that_, if you don't mind. I'd rather not add a coronary to my list of concerns right now."

"I'm sorry, Balthier. It's just so hard not to tease you when you get so flustered. It's usually Vaan that gets the worst of it." She smiled, "We won't hurt you. That's a promise."

A snort came from the direction of what Balthier assumed was the entryway, "I wouldn't promise _that_. Ashe is throwing a royal bitch-fit."

Penelo groaned, "Vaan, we _talked _about this! What did you say to her _this _time?"

"**No**thing. I just mentioned we had Ffa—_Balthier_, and she freaked. Started screaming all sorts of nasty stuff."

A loud, shrieking sound filtered in from somewhere beyond the door, and Vaan shuffled into Balthier's line of sight, making a face.

Penelo paled a bit, "She's...really upset, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't know. It's not like she's ever happy to see me." Vaan shrugged, and Penelo crossed her arms, "What? She's _not_!"

"But she still won't_ hurt—augh_!" Penelo stormed out of the room as another shriek pierced the air, followed by a crashing noise.

Vaan turned his attention to Balthier, holding his pose, but allowing his eyes to slide ever-so-slowly to the side.

Balthier arched a brow.

"Quite the ladies' man, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

"I'd say he has a point, Vaan. You do have a tendency to set Ashe screaming. 'Balthier', is it? I'm truly sorry for your pain, but we didn't have many alternatives."

Balthier's eyes narrowed, "I take it you're the boss. 'Basch', wasn't it? How appropriate."

A heavy, long-suffering sigh drifted to his ear as a tall, broad-shouldered man with muscles that did not quite match up with his careful enunciation stepped into his line of sight, standing close enough to Vaan to suggest some form of unspoken support. "Again, I am terribly sorry for your pains, but the blow was necessary. We could think of no other way to bring you here peacefully."

"You'd think that would _tell _you something." Balthier bit, nearly venomous. 'Peacefully'. These people had cold-cocked him from behind and tied him to a chair in some Shiva-damned* rathole for no valid reason _Balthier _could discern, because they could think of no other 'peaceful' option.

A small shred of morbid curiosity wondered, however briefly, what struck these people as 'violent'.

Vaan stiffened up, a hint of malice in his expression as he took a step toward Balthier, "_Ease up, __**Ffamran. **_He said he was _sorry, _already."

"My heart weeps for his internal struggle. Yea and verily, I repent my wicked words." Balthier drawled in a near-monotone, eyes not leaving those pretty-boy blues until he was certain that the blonde understood his sarcasm.

Sarcasm.

S...a...r...c...a...s...m.

Vaan made a frustrated growling noise and made to take another step, but a solid hand on his shoulder stopped him short, "Be easy, Vaan. Penelo said that you were getting along so _well _with him, earlier."

Balthier arched a brow, refusing to give them the pleasure of an outright, 'What sort of happy powder have you been sprinkling in your water supply?' expression. Which was ironic, really, considering the likelihood that the good Dr. Cid had most likely already _taken_ to dumping things in there.

He refused to think of it.

The very subject was enough to drive him to drink.

...Then again, most things were. He did have such a love for alcohol.

He gathered himself quickly, watching blankly as Vaan bit his lip—an action that decidedly did _not_ arouse his attentions—and scuffed his boot against the floor before looking away from his apparent superior, cheeks a charming shade of red.

"...He called me stupid."

Basch chuckled, a warm and undeniably pleasant sound, and ran his fingers through the boy's soft-looking blonde hair, over and down the back of his neck, and finally letting his hand rest on Vaan's lower back, "Is that all?"

"Yeah. That's it." Balthier watched carefully as the boy's eyes slid back to his boss, his breathing notably different after the delicate contact, "...just pisses me off, that's all."

Another shrill scream split the air, but neither of his captors seemed particularly surprised. Basch let out another sigh, his face relaxing into a weary expression. He seemed, in that moment, almost like an old dog, attempting with half a heart to find some warm place to rest, just for a moment, before the children came to jump on him and tie his ears again.

A second mating shriek from the enigmatic Ashe-bird and Basch applied a light pressure to the boy's back, urging him on to noisier pastures, "I'd like a moment to speak with our guest. If you could help Penelo calm her, perhaps...?"

_Or you could just slip her a Valium._ Balthier's mind offered blackly, _Maybe four. Sounds to me like a four Valium kind of girl._

Vaan left after a brief groan of self-sacrificing misery, making quick time to join his friend in fighting off the raging Ashe-beast.

As soon as the door shut behind Vaan, the world seemed to narrow. Basch turned his focus back to the rather harassed-looking Bunansa, taking a moment to look him over.

"You're an idiot if you believe that's what was bothering him."

His only answer was a strange, enigmatic little smile and a vague 'hm'ing noise.

"And you brought me here _because_?"

"That's a bit of a long story. Truly, I would like to tell it with you in better shape to hear, but it seems that wouldn't be very fair, would it?"

Oh, only about as fair as shanghai-ing someone in the midst of an otherwise promising evening, tying them up with the precision of a boyscout from hell, and subjecting him to a parade of sunny, cheerful teenagers with the apparent career designation of 'walking heart attack'.

And, apparently, a harpy.

Outside of his morbid little mind, Balthier merely pursed his lip, "Sources say no."

Sources would also like to file a lawsuit, but that was another matter.

"We weren't quite certain that we should...'retrieve' you, as yet, but Larsa suggested that it may do our cause some good to speak with you. Ah. That's not to say the boy deserves any blame. I accept full responsibility for my —."

Wait.

**Wait.**

_Larsa?_

_Larsa – fucking – Solidor?_

Basch blinked, somewhat put off, "The same. You remember him, I trust."

Apparently, he'd said that bit aloud.

And of course he remembered Larsa Solidor.

Draklor Laboratories—the horrid little association of research facilities and companies under his father's banner that rendered Balthier both obscenely rich and utterly disgusted with his own given name—maintained close and—he shuddered to think—'_intimate'_ ties with Solidor Legacy, Inc.

In short, _the company previously run by Larsa's father._

Recently, the boy's older brother, Vayne, had taken over their father's vast corporate enterprise after the unfortunate 'accident' that left their beloved guardian dead and the board members nodding dumbly at Vayne's every word.

Good little dogs, they were.

But...it was strange.

The boy had always been mild-mannered. A quiet, intellectual sort he was; he always seemed the sort best suited to run a company and run it well, carefully considering the good of _all _parties affected by the decisions of such looming, corporate giants.

Damn behemoths, the lot of them, ready and waiting to swallow up any human being stupid enough to stand in the path of choking smog and the sickening smell of freshly-minted money.

And Larsa...

How would this lot of half-baked, kidnapping thugs have come into contact with him?

Moreover, why on _Earth _would he suggest that they venture to drop _Balthier_ in the midst of this horrid little freakshow?

The boy was such a gentle soul...now that he thought of it, Balthier felt himself grow a bit more concerned for the young Solidor than himself.

There had been no indication...

No news that the younger Solidor sibling had disappeared.

For all intents and purposes, Larsa may well have ceased to exist.

Business had continued as usual.

Vayne had made the usual arrogant speeches and dropped the occasional 'greater good' in his press conferences, but never a single 'Larsa'.

'How are my stocks?'

trumped

'_**Where is my brother?'**_

* * *

And not a soul had noticed.

* * *

_Never got the green, green paper, this is what you'll find.  
Crack open your gorgeous face, I'll show you what's inside._

_Count the bottles on the wall-  
before I break them all.  
'Cause you've drank enough-  
You've drank enough._

* * *

(eNd cHapter)

**Bonus Fun Stuff:**

_Musical credit for this chapter goes to Semi-Precious Weapons for "Crack Open Your Gorgeous Face". A few other songs on the soundtrack I've compiled (pssst, see below) influenced this, but this is the one that carries best._

-(*) Balthier addresses Shiva here because I attempted to decipher the information on Ivalician gods and _still _could not figure out which proper bleeding name should be used. So congratulations, the pretty, old-fashioned summons get some homage. Because I love them, and you can't make me translate all of that migraine-inducing divine political mumbo jumbo that makes up the spirituality of Ivalice. -.-

-Oh, look. Bullet points. How lovely. Anyway, I have now stayed up until 3:21 compiling a complete soundtrack for this story, along with bonus character, location, and relationship themes. Can we say overkill?

-There won't be lyrics _sung _in each chapter, as you can see. And some chapters may have more than one song, because I'm attached to the muuuusic.

-Feed the author fanart and she will have your imaginary babies. I don't care if I have to artswap until I'm old, I want to see illustrations for this thing.


	3. I Was a Teenage Anarchist

**Author's Note:** The direction of this fic is careening away from me at this point. Pray for me. -.-

* * *

Money Honey

**Part Three:**

I Was a Teenage Anarchist

* * *

Balthier's body hit what might be considered the closest living posture to rigor mortis as he sized up the brute standing before him, all at once relaxed and at attention. He'd had military training, Balthier was certain.

He recognized that posture from the various masses of merchant muscle that would occasionally wander in and out of his father's employ. The elder Bunansa was borderline (if not full-out, card-carrying, Beautiful Mind and-not-in-the-good-way) psychotic, but he wasn't misguided in hiring protection. He'd made quite a few enemies, and rightfully so. Balthier might have offed the man himself, if Vayne hadn't provided a neat little example of just what kind of monster that would make him.

(Really, he'd _hate _to be affiliated with Vayne Solidor in any additional sense, especially after watching the effeminate fop interact with his old man.)

Basch stood in a parody of ease and relaxation, but Balthier held no delusions—the man had been holding back when he'd scrambled his brains earlier, and at the slightest sign of physical rebellion, he could no doubt drop Balthier in scant seconds.

What would compel him to associate with this ragtag band, Balthier couldn't quite imagine—well, really, after seeing 'Vaan' from behind and factoring in the goo goo eyes he'd made at the older man, it wasn't _impossible_, but...— but that in no way lessened his physical capabilities.

Mistrustful gray met patient brown, and Balthier got the rather unpleasant sensation that he was somehow being _toyed _with. "I suppose," He began with an artfully delicate shade of derision, "That you'll be holding the boy ransom?"

The alternative wasn't exactly pleasant to think of, after all.

But the larger man shook his head, putting his hands out, palms up, as if he were offering the fabric of peace itself, "No, ...Balthier. I assure you that while Larsa's removal from his brother's care was not entirely voluntary, he remains with us now of his own free will."

"Oh? Shall I assume he's grown to enjoy the lingering effects of rope burn, then?"

Basch sighed, and Balthier found himself somewhat insulted. The merry misfit himself had received much the same reaction, and Balthier had no desire to be placed in _that _category.

Really, was it so hard to achieve perfection? All he'd wanted to do was enjoy what pleasures he could in the warm lull of inebriation, away from the insidious Vaynes and insipid Vaans. Instead, here he was, smack dab in the middle of kidnapping country and—something inside of Balthier shriveled and _died _as the words 'White Slavery' flashed in his mind.

"Really, Ffamran, it isn't as bad as all that. I promise you." The crisp, youthful voice that interrupted the train wreck of his thoughts was like some sort of miracle balm. Felt like menthol for his mind. Unusual, because that voice usually carried the promise of ensuing unpleasant company.

There was a relieved exhale, and Balthier couldn't fight off the twitchy smile. He blamed it on the nerves, but still, something corded tight in his chest loosened at the sight.

"_Larsa_."

"I think he prefers 'Balthier', now, Larsa. He was rather adamant about that detail." Basch lowered his chin a bit in a gesture of respect. Balthier nearly went cross-eyed.

"I do recall hearing about that. He's never had much affection for the business world."

Balthier snorted, "Understatement of the century."

He'd never had much 'affection' to begin with. His mother may have been an abandoning gold-digger, but she was smart enough to get out _quickly._ Balthier envied her luck. Since the day of his birth, Ffamran Mied Bunansa had been more of a pet than a child, carefully groomed for presentation. He'd shown quite the aptitude for tricks, before he figured out precisely how to bite the hand that fed him.

And bite he did.

Often, and with _fervor_. He considered his first pregnancy scare a thing of pride. Of course, there had been consequences, but Balthier had survived them. He had seen into the 'business world' with those shrewd eyes of his, and he had memorized its workings in detail. It wasn't something he wanted any part of. He'd rather be put down than led into the dog fights.

"I'm sorry, Balthier, I really didn't mean for you to be injured at all. I thought you'd be a rather helpful ally, after all, and I think you'll be interested in what Basch and the others have to say."

He might have snarked back in his typical wicked way, but the boy had rested one of those delicate hands on his shoulder. Honestly, Balthier had no doubt that so many problems in the Archadian power structure could be solved if only Larsa Solidor would _pout _more.

He sighed, "All right. Fine. Let's hear it. Anima only knows, I've suffered enough for a little insight."

The smile that lit up Larsa's face almost made Balthier sorry he hadn't been better acquainted with the boy...but it faded quickly. The serious look that schooled his features in line spoke of an aptitude unusual for such a young man.

It wasn't so surprising. From the few pleasant meetings he _had _shared with the younger Solidor, he knew that the boy practically _breathed _poetic language.

Except—

"I'm sure you've noticed that my brother's been killing people."

* * *

Balthier liked to think that there were certain rules of engagement to be observed when breaking news to other individuals.

There was an art to it that he felt anyone should be able to understand.

Anyone, apparently, but sweet-mannered Larsa Solidor.

If Balthier had anything to choke on, he would have. As it was, there was an unpleasant, twisting _retch _in his throat as the boy made his announcement. Felt suspiciously like gagging.

This was not even 'ripping off a bandaid' sudden. This was 'unannounced air raid' sudden.

Basch was good enough to pat his back until he stopped coughing, careful not to bruise the thorny brunette.

"I'm sorry," He gasped, struggling to regain his composure, "Come again?"

Larsa gave him a look somewhere between surprise and skepticism, "You didn't realize?"

"I'd suspected, yes, but the announcement was a bit abrupt." He answered, "Your father's death was a bit too well-acted to have been an accident."

The younger man nodded solemnly, "Yes."

"And your sudden departure?"

"I had refused to go with Basch and the others until I realized precisely what had been going on. I didn't want to imagine that my brother could be _capable _of such things. He was never terribly _warm_ toward father, but..."

"Compelling evidence."

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry."

Larsa frowned, as if tired of receiving these tired, empty platitudes wrapped in Archadian-accented propriety. He might have told the older man so, but Balthier cut him off at the pass. "Please don't assume that my character is so easily aligned with my father's. I say this very rarely, and I mean it when I say it : I _am_ sorry."

The boy looked as if he might cry, but he settled on a soft, watery smile, "Thank you."

"Mm," Balthier eyed Basch, standing nearer to Larsa now, head bowed and strong hand resting on the boy's shoulder, "So I'll assume that your extraction was...?"

"We didn't hit him." Basch droned.

Balthier grunted, and did his best not to show his ruffled feathers as Larsa chuckled, "It seems you've been poorly introduced. Balthier, this is Basch fon Ronsenberg. He's the man that keeps it all together."

It was almost heartwarming, watching the delicate youth doing his best to reach up and return that old-fashioned, hand-on-shoulder gesture. Except for the 'fon Ronsenberg' thing.

Balthier hadn't recognized the name before, but he sure as hell remembered it, now. He'd been right to suspect some sort of military ties—the man's name had been plastered all over the news not two years past, decried as the culprit behind the violent murder of one Raminas B'nargin Dalmasca, CEO and owner of Dalmascan Industries.

...Not to mention the _king _of one of the only remaining monarchies in modern Ivalice.

In the aftermath of the former 'knight commander's' betrayal, Draklor and Solidor had been left to brutally take over the respective economies of Dalmasca, Nabradia, and Bhujerba. His intended heir, son-in-law Rasler Heios Nabradia, had tried to stop the corporate rape of the three countries, but it hadn't taken long for his weak hard to pull him under in the face of the seemingly hopeless stress. Suicide, it seemed, had been the only discernible way out for young...Princess...

Ashelia.

Balthier had been kidnapped by the last remaining vestige of the Dalmascan monarchy.

And the man who was _supposed _to have damned them all.

* * *

It's hard to describe exactly what happened next, because Balthier was adamant that _men_, especially _gentlemen_, did not _faint_.

* * *

"I don't suppose we should take that as a 'yes'?"

A soft sigh, then, "Where's Vaan?"

* * *

_I was a teenage anarchist, looking for a revolution.  
I had the style, I had the ambition.  
Read all the authors, I knew the right slogans.  
There was no war but the class war, I was ready to set the world on fire.  
I was a teenage anarchist...  
looking for a revolution._

* * *

(eNd ChApTer)

_ Musical credit for this chapter goes to _Against Me! _from their album, _White Crosses.

**A/N: **The soundtrack keeps changing, and the story fluctuates. I never expected to write something with quite so much political intrigue. o.o Anyway, this may yet be a cry for help, if anyone's got MSN. I'm a little iffy on where this may be going. I have an idea, but I could use a bit of help.

As always, thanks for reading, and please do tell me what you thought. :)

**Bonus** : As for the ever-changing soundtrack, any ideas on where I should post it?


End file.
